


full concentration.

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [35]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Outdoor Sex, mild dirty talk, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the back of her mind, Allison knows that this could just be a distraction.  Braeden could just be waiting for her guard to drop before she strikes and whispers <i>concentrate</i> in Allison’s ear.  She knows that she could do the same thing, could easily flip their positions and pin Braeden to the ground.    </p><p>But she thinks that continuing to kiss Braeden would be infinitely more enjoyable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	full concentration.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonerskittles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerskittles/gifts).



> this was written as a bonus gift for round 2 of the Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange! I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write more Allison/Braeden and I tried to incorporate some more of the tropes that didn't quite fit into the main gift. I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> a huge thanks to [Christa](http://malieatate.tumblr.com/) for being an awesome beta!

In the depths of the trees the near-oppressive heat that has been plaguing Beacon Hills for the better part of the last month is actually quite bearable. Between the few puffy clouds above and the towering trunks below there are actually pockets of shade, which grow more and more tempting with each passing moment.

Allison would like nothing better than to lay down in one of them for a few hours. Wisps of her hair are plastered to her forehead and there’s sweat dripping down the back of her exposed neck. It feels like there are bruises forming on every inch of her skin and the still-healing scar on her stomach keeps throbbing warningly, in time with her heartbeat. 

She forces herself to ignore all of the pain and weariness. Instead, she takes a deep breath, shakes out some of the kinks that have formed in her knuckles and raises her hands again, automatically adjusting her body so that it’s in ideal fighting position. 

Ten seconds later, she hits the ground on her hands and knees. 

“You need to concentrate.” 

“I _am_ concentrating,” Allison spits, crushing some dead leaves under her sore fingers. She quickly presses one palm against her stomach, half expecting to feel blood staining her tank top. Only when she’s sure that everything’s fine does she glance up, leveling a glare at Braeden through the locks of hair dangling in front of her face. 

“If this is what you call concentrating, I’d hate to see what you look like when you’re slacking off,” Braeden retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. They’ve been training for nearly an hour, but Braeden hasn’t hit the ground once. It shows in her posture, in the straight line of her back, the cock of her head, the perfect arch of one of her eyebrows. 

It is absolutely fucking _infuriating._

Allison doesn’t bother to give her a response. She gets back to her feet, trying to hide a wince. She’s been out of commission for the last three months, laid up by the stab wound that should have killed her. She still remembers her training by heart, could recite lists of fighting positions and techniques by rote, but her muscles have slackened and lost their memory. 

(She’s missing other memories too; Scott cradling her in his arms as blood gushed from her stomach, turning eighteen while in a medically induced coma, trying to get out of her bed while semi-conscious and ripping her stitches to shreds. 

She doesn’t remember any of this, but she’s absorbed it all from overheard whispers and notations made on the calendar in her father’s office.)

Training with Braeden had seemed like the best way to get herself back in the game. The mercenary was just as skilled with her hands as she was with weapons and she wasn’t afraid to be brutally honest. She was one of the few people who didn’t treat Allison like a fragile piece of porcelain that might crack if it was brushed the wrong way.

At the very least, that was a relief. But if Allison had known how goddamn _smug_ Braeden was going to be, she never would have broached the idea of training together. 

She raises her hands again and Braeden immediately steps into motion. Allison ducks under her first swing, sidesteps her second and catches the third right across the side of her head. The impact leaves her ears ringing and she stumbles back slightly as she tries to regain her balance. 

“Concentrate,” Braeden hisses again, flicking some of her long, dark hair away from her face so that it falls over the long scars coursing down the length of her throat 

“I am!” Allison yells, words echoing through the trees. This time, she makes the first move. She darts forward and grabs Braeden’s wrist just as the woman aims a punch at her ribs. She uses her momentum to twist Braeden around and just as Braeden’s elbow connects with her stomach, Allison hooks her foot around Braeden’s ankle and pulls. Braeden hits the ground on her side and when she glances up Allison feels a smirk pass across her face. 

“How’s that for concentration?” she asks, sucking in a deep breath of crisp, forest air. Braeden raises one of her eyebrows and before Allison can ask what it’s for, both of her feet are swept out from underneath her. Her back hits the ground hard, leaving not even enough breath to groan when a stick snaps underneath her shoulders. Before she can sit up, Braeden appears above her, hands wrapped around her biceps, pinning them to the ground. 

“You think this is funny?” she snaps. Allison attempts to buck her off but her stomach throbs again and Braeden’s fingers only dig harder into her arms. She leans down, close enough for her hair to brush along the side of Allison’s neck. “I’m doing you a fucking favor, Allison. If you aren’t going to take this seriously, stop wasting my time.”

“I’m not a charity case,” Allison sneers, reaching up and wrapping her fingers around Braeden’s wrists. “If you don’t want to be here, fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Prove it.” Braeden leans even closer to her, dark eyes glinting in the sunlight. Allison can feel her breath brushing against her jaw. Her grip on Allison’s arms wavers slightly and in return, Allison loosens her fingers around Braeden’s wrists, although she’s pretty sure that she’s already left fingerprints behind. 

Seconds tick by and Braeden doesn’t move. She doesn’t stand up and she doesn’t get back into sparring position. She simply stays motionless, hovering over Allison, the sound of her breathing loud as thunder to Allison’s ears. Part of Allison wants to surge upward and knock Braeden off, wants to prove herself, wants to feel her knuckles collide with warm skin pulled tight over hard muscle. 

Allison decides not to listen to that part of herself.

She drops her hands from Braeden’s wrists and thrusts them into her hair instead, yanking the older woman down into a hard kiss. It’s an impulsive move and Allison doesn’t quite know why she’s doing it. She would completely understand if Braeden jumped up or yanked away, if she stormed off into the trees and decided never to spar with Allison again. 

She doesn’t do any of that. She kisses Allison back. Her teeth scrape against Allison’s bottom lip and her fingers drop from Allison’s arms and mold to her neck instead. Allison gasps and brushes her tongue against Braeden’s, using her grip on Braeden’s hair to pull them closer together. 

In the back of her mind, she knows that this could just be a distraction. Braeden could just be waiting for her guard to drop before she strikes and whispers _concentrate_ in Allison’s ear. She knows that she could do the same thing, could easily flip their positions and pin Braeden to the ground. 

But she thinks that continuing to kiss Braeden would be infinitely more enjoyable. 

When Braeden pulls away, her breathing is heavy and her lips are parted, glistening and wet. She stares down at Allison with an expression that makes Allison feel powerful, in control of herself, for the first time in months. The longer Braeden goes without speaking, the stronger that feeling gets. 

She has to admit; she’s missed the unique surge of self-confidence that comes from rendering someone absolutely speechless. 

Slowly, Braeden slides her hands away from Allison’s neck. She trails her fingers along the line of Allison’s collarbone, down over her breasts, her stomach and hips. When they reach the hem of Allison’s tank top, they curl into the thin fabric and pull up until the shirt is piled just underneath Allison’s bra. A cool breeze comes through the trees, brushing over Allison’s scar. She takes a deep breath and just barely manages to keep from looking down at the wound. While she hasn’t let anyone see it since she left the hospital, she’s memorized its appearance. It’s not a pretty mark; while it’s almost healed, the edges are still an ugly shade of pink. No amount of so-called miracle oil or makeup is ever going to be able to hide it. She’s forever going to have a thick, ragged, white line cutting across her stomach. 

But she doesn’t pull away to cover up. Instead, she raises her hand and brushes her thumb along one of the jagged lines of tissue trailing onto Braeden’s cheek. Braeden’s lips turn up and her fingers just barely dance along the edge of Allison’s scar, where it’s still a little tender to the touch. 

“We make quite the pair,” she says. Allison nods, feeling the contrast between Braeden’s smooth neck and the scars bisecting it. 

It’s the last words that pass between them for a few, long minutes. After a few more moments of Braeden just barely touching her, everything shifts. Her palms flatten on Allison’s stomach, pushing her shirt up even further. Allison sits up as far as she can and tugs it over her head, tossing it aside. There are twigs and pebbles digging into her back, leaving tiny scrapes every time she moves, but she ignores them. 

She hopes they won’t be the only scratches she has by the time all is said and done. 

Braeden kisses her hard, nips at her lips and jaw, runs her fingernails down Allison’s sides until Allison is gasping and arching off the ground. She treats her like someone solid and substantial, someone who doesn’t need to be coddled, someone capable of looking after themselves.

Allison can’t remember the last time she felt such relief. 

Braeden shifts, so that her thigh is slotted between Allison’s. Allison wastes no time in grinding up against it, groaning at the pressure against her warm, wet core. She hitches one of her legs around Braeden’s to give herself more leverage and Braeden smooths her palm from Allison’s knee to her hip, sliding underneath the hem of Allison’s shorts. 

“I didn’t know you had this in you.” Braeden’s voice is raspier than Allison is used to and the words dance along her cheek as Braeden bites at her jaw again. 

“What?” Allison asks, digging her ankle into the back of Braeden’s leg. 

“Anybody could come by,” Braeden continues, tongue just barely brushing against Allison’s throat. “One of your friends, some stranger, maybe even your father. And you don’t care, do you?” Allison’s face grows hotter, but it’s an automatic reaction. She shakes her head and tightens her fingers on the back of Braeden’s neck. 

“I’m full of surprises,” she says, biting her lip when Braeden’s hand brushes along the inside of her thigh.

“I like being surprised,” Braeden murmurs, just before her teeth press into the jut of Allison’s collarbone. She yelps quietly, stuck between pleasure and pain, not sure whether to move away or arch up. There’s definitely going to be a mark there, a strawberry colored explosion decorating her skin, visible to anyone if she doesn’t wear the right kind of shirt. 

But that knowledge isn’t enough to make her stop Braeden from doing it on the other side of her collarbone. 

Those aren’t the only marks Braeden leaves. As she trails down Allison’s body, bruises blossom along the curve of Allison’s breasts, down her ribs, in parallel lines following her hipbones. By the time her lips gently press against Allison’s scar, Allison is pretty sure that her shorts are a complete write-off. 

Her underwear _definitely_ is. 

“Fuck,” Allison groans, fingers digging into the dirt as Braeden reaches for the top of her shorts, “hurry up.” 

“Do you want me to leave you here like this?” Braeden asks, one eyebrow raised. “I will, if you act like that.” 

“Then I’ll just take care of myself,” Allison says, trying to stop her voice from wavering. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to scare me.” Braeden smirks at her, but there’s a softness to her expression that doesn’t go with the furl of her mouth. 

“I don’t really want to scare you,” she says quietly, slowly peeling Allison’s shorts down her legs. “I can think of far better things to do.” She pulls back onto her knees, fingernails scraping Allison’s skin as she tugs her clothes down her legs and off. The warm air hits Allison’s core and she moans, spreading her legs and digging her toes into the ground. Braeden tosses Allison’s shorts and underwear aside before she takes a deep breath, eyes glancing back and forth from Allison’s eyes to between her legs. 

“You’re soaked,” she says, thumbing at Allison’s clit. “You’re _dripping._ ” 

“I told you,” Allison says, biting back a gasp as Braeden slides a finger through her folds, “I’m full of surprises.” Braeden looks her straight in the eye as she brings her hand up to her mouth and licks her finger clean.

“You definitely are.” Braeden smirks again before she leans down and presses a feather-light kiss just above Allison’s clit. When her tongue brushes against where Allison is fever warm and wet, Allison curses and tries to resist bucking her hips against Braeden’s mouth.

“Don’t hold back,” Braeden murmurs, breath ghosting over Allison’s core. “Holding back won’t get you anywhere.” 

That’s all Allison needs to stop resisting. She threads one of her hands into Braeden’s hair and slips the other under her own bra, brushing her thumb over her nipple until it’s a hard bud. After a few moments, Braeden pulls Allison’s legs over her shoulders. When she slips one of her fingers inside, Allison groans and presses her heels into Braeden’s back. 

“Fuck,” she gasps as Braeden adds a second finger with no preamble. She can feel Braeden smirking against her and while her smugness may have been infuriating during training, Allison thinks that it’s well earned in their current situation. 

Even if some of the things that come out of it make Allison want to slam her into a tree, there’s no denying that Braeden has an amazing mouth, especially when it’s combined with her fingers. Her lips trail up to nip against Allison’s hips before sliding back down so she can briefly press her tongue in along with her fingers. After a moment, she starts teasing a third alongside the other two, pressing just an inch inside before pulling back. It’s almost too much and Allison feels the hot prick of tears at the corner of her eyes.

She really, really hopes that no one decides to come wandering through the woods. Even with the knowledge of the mortification that would hit her, she knows that she wouldn’t tell Braeden to stop, no matter who it was. 

“Please,” she gasps, tugging Braeden’s hair, “don’t stop.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Braeden murmurs. She presses her tongue flat against Allison’s clit and curls her fingers, brushing up against a spot that makes Allison cry out and dig her fingers into the ground. She rocks her hips against Braeden’s mouth, harder and harder, muscles growing tight and taut. She can hear the slick sounds of Braeden’s fingers thrusting in and out of her and that’s what tips her over the edge. She cries out, back arched, heels digging into Braeden’s firm back. When she sags back down, legs shaking, Braeden presses a firm kiss just above where her curls start. Her thumbs smooth along Allison’s hips, pressing against the numerous marks that have blossomed into dozens of different colours. 

“Are you going to be alright?” she asks. Allison takes a deep breath and nods, not quite ready to speak again. Her limbs are still trembling and she can taste blood on the tip of her tongue. She’s pretty sure that her back is covered in small scrapes and smears of dirt and she’s definitely going to have an interesting time explaining her disheveled appearance to her father. 

But for now, she isn’t going to worry about that, not when Braeden is hovering over her, lips and chin still slick with Allison’s come. Some of it has even dripped onto her scars and Allison pulls Braeden closer so that she can lick it off. 

“Allison, you don’t have-”

“I want to,” Allison interrupts. She pushes hard at Braeden’s shoulders and flips their position. Braeden’s hair splays across the grass and her shirt rides up, exposing a smooth patch of skin between the bottom of her tank top and the waist of her pants. Allison leans down to press her lips to it before reaching for Braeden’s button. When she tugs on Braeden’s zipper, she can feel heat rolling from between Braeden’s legs, pressing up against her palm. 

“Is this something you learned as a hunter?” Braeden asks. It’s obviously meant to be witty, but her voice has lost most of its usual bite. 

“Nope,” Allison says, hiding a smirk against Braeden’s stomach as she slowly tugs her pants and black underwear down, “I taught myself this.” 

By the time Braeden comes with a sharp cry and the bite of her fingernails against Allison’s shoulders, Allison is pretty sure that she has a sunburn striping her back. The heat of the day has finally made it into the forest and there’s sweat pooling at the base of her spine. She definitely needs a shower sooner rather than later. 

None of that stops her from feeling like she’s on top of the world. Her forehead is resting against Braeden’s thigh and she’s trying to get her breath back, one inhale at a time. Braeden’s fingers are resting on top of her head, slowly carding through her hair. There’s no sign of her smugness and that thought just makes Allison bury another smile against Braeden’s bare leg. 

“So,” Braeden says after a few long moments, “one more round of sparring?” 

“Hmm?” Allison looks up, chin resting on Braeden’s hip, right beside a mark roughly the shape of her teeth. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously. This was fun, but you still need to get back in fighting shape.” Braeden sits up, pushes her hair away from her shoulders and tugs the straps of her bra back up her arms. “One more round, and then…” Her eyes catch Allison’s and Allison feels a wave of warmth that has nothing to do with the sun rush through her. 

“And then, maybe one more round of something else.”

Allison can’t pull her clothes on fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
